Back to my trip to London for a minute:

The Theater De Complicite is a group in London who completely restores my faith in theater. A few years ago I saw what was the best production I have ever seen anywhere, called "Out of a House Walked a Man", based on the writings of Daniil Kharms, one of my favorite authors, a Russian absurdist who died in Stalin's purges. He wrote very strange very short pieces of prose. He basically could only get published as a children's writer, but he had tons of other writing including some plays. He was part of all these radical absurdist art movements, at a time when such people were regularly arrested for "distracting the proletariat." the production was not a strict adaptation of his play, but rather inspired by his life and works. The set was unbelievable: the back of the stage was a huge wall of sepiatone stones or wood panels, stretching up higher than the balcony of the theater, crumbling and stained and dim. At different parts of the production a panel opened and a person emerged, or came out one and went in another. Other visual magic abounded. A dark, confusing world of bureaucracy and intestinal complaints, of incomprehensible and changing rules, of disappearances and transformations, of humor and misplaced desire. At the end of the play, one by one, the panels revealed themselves to be sheets of paper, peeling loose from the top down, fluttering across the stage. it was breathtaking. the acting was stellar as well, very physical, with occasional dancelike moments, or places where people spin into waltzes and sing lines from his stories.
Anyway, "Street of Crocodiles" is based on the life and writings of Bruno Schulz, a Polish Jewish (kinda magical-realist) author who was killed by the gestapo (sense a theme? both for my slavophile literary tastes and for the tragedy). He wrote a few short stories, but was recognized as one of the best writers in poland by the tine if his death. His stories are dense and drunken with language, I stagger out of them blinking into the cold light of day, having just been fed on something richer and more golden, if a little musty. His father became increasingly mad, a tremendous, tragic figure in his life, andhis stories are about the struggles in the family between his parents, as well as the maid/housekeeper. And the play did not disappoint. Magic was the order of the day. The first scene, Jozef opens a book, in the dark, high-ceiiling room which is his father's shop: two or three bookshelves full with dusty books, books over the doorway, a wheelbarrow full of books, lonely coats hanging from the distant ceiling, a stairway carvediunto the wall, and one story up, built into the wall, a stool and desk. As J. opens the book, his brother emerges from the back wall *walking down it, so all we see clearly is the top of his head --he's walking parallel to the floor-*, one of the shop asssistants emerges from a bucket of water downstage right, spluttering and spitting. He then picks up the bucket, inadvertently displaying its solid bottom. One of the actors is Spanish, and most of his lines are in Spanish, but he is so expressive (and hysterically funny) that I think most people can follow him. It' s mostly in English,m with buts of german and polish. It all takes place in the shop, but the ominous tramp of boots is sometime heard from outside. The main actor is tall and gaunt, with dark eyebrows and a worried expression. They make incredible use of props, which mutate and rearrange or are rearranged by the actors. Oh heavens I can't say enough about how lovely they are. this group tours. if you EVER hear of the Theater De Complicite coming to your town, go see. no hesistation.

It was so good I was glad I went to see it alone, because if my companion hadn't loved it I would have not been able to speak to them. Plus I was a big weepy puddle.

2/4 *late afternoon addition Forgot to mention that as I weas watching Roseanne (my new guilty pleasure) last night, it was all about riot grrrl. Not bad, either. Roseanne and her sister pick up a hitchiker (who i think was that gurl who plays dharma in that show dharma+greg) who sez she is a riot grrl, and she's in a band etc. She reels off a whole list of bands incl. bikini kiill. then they drop her off, harass a trucker who has a 'no fat chicks' bumper sticker and naked-gurl-mudflaps until he takes out a telephone pole (!), talk their way out of the police because Roseanne starts breastfeeding, which freaks'em out. Then they list a whol lotta female singers they like including Chrissie Hynde, Joan Jett, Pat Benetar, and Patti Smith. Wow. kinda kool for a sitcom.

Tonight, a friend of mine is spinning jungle (he calls it drum'n'bass) at a bar near my house. Plus Mr. Lif is opening up for DJ Vadim down the street. A good music night, but of course I should be studying for my GRE's and reading Simon Kuznets. Heh. I need to be one of those lucky folk who only needs four hours sleep a night.

I've finally gotten my office looking a little more human. When I first moved in, it was blankwalled, although we do have a beautiful huge picture window with a view of the bay and the city... I spent too much money on a Kandinsky poster, plus a poster of Leon Bakst's costume illustration of Berenice l'Herodienne -a woman in a gorgeous, richly patterned, 'oriental' costume, and a lurid mexican film poster. Slowly I've accumulated little treasures, mostly postcards:

• a campy little painting from the Swedish museum of modern art-"the death of the dandy", a pale slim darkhaird man in a green suit with a white vest and cravat, swooning o n a pillow with a mirror falling from his languid fingers. A similar-looking man in a purple suit satnds behind him in a mourning pose, presses a hanky to his eye, two women support the pillow, while a third draws an ornate coverlet over him. It's great.
• Elihu Vedder,-"the fates gathering the stars", very mystical, three women pulling sheaves of stars from the sky.
• two postcards of tapestries by Phoebe Traquair, a woman whom everyone should know. I saw th tapestries in the Scottish National Gallery, six feet by two feet, unbelievably detailed and expressive art deco/nouveau style images of a soul (characterized by a beautiful boy) in four stages. I can't describe it well, but everyone must look for her art. Especially all you crafty ladies.
• Gloria Swanson smirking over fan mail in "Sunset Boulevard."
• a little poster (5x7) of Goya's "The Witches"

It's kind of fun to start taking over a space, and trying to give it personality. Considering how many hours I spend her and all. I'm glad it's not a cubicle.

2/1 Ahh first day of classes. Always a bit of mayhem around the office as everyone floods in with questions. I wore a mod grey blazer (long and buttoned up high) and my lipstick-red buttondown with tea-length sleeves and my high boots that make me 5 foot ten. A little semblance of authority for all the kids coming in with questions.
I begin "Comparative Economic Systems" today. With the same prof. I still haven't finished the paper for last semester. But that's partly due to the interlibrary loan people wrongfully sending my books back from whence they came, which included Utah and Colorado. So now the books are back and I can do more analysis. I would love to be really empirical, but unfortunately, there hasn't been a whole lot of data gathered on the question I'm looking for. the eternal problem. O well, have to cobble it together somehow.

Saw 'Carrie" again this weekend. A rockin' good horror movie. I actually was suprised at how good it was. I usually hate Brian Depalma (The Killing Fields, The Untouchables, Scarface, Body Double) I think he's super manipulative and cheap. But he did really well with this one. Geek girls win out as the telekinetic Sissy Spacek lashes out at her horrid highschool class and psychofundamentalist mom (played creeeeepily by Piper Laurie). It's really scary and good. And John Travolta is in it. Playing an idiot.